


For The Agent Who Has Everything

by somehowunbroken



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Steve's a dastardly criminal mastermind, and Danny's the long-suffering Interpol agent who loves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The Agent Who Has Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post by gyzym: The one where Steve's a dastardly criminal mastermind, and Danny's the long-suffering Interpol agent who loves him.

“Williams.” Danny sounds tense, strained, and Steve takes half a second to feel bad about that before he replies.

“Hey, you,” he says, settling the phone onto his shoulder and ticking the seconds down in his head. _Three, two, one-_

“McGarrett,” Danny begins just as Steve thinks _go_ , “I got a case today. Do you want to know what this case is?”

“Hmm,” Steve replies, mock-thoughtful as he leans against the counter in his kitchen, reaching for one of the oranges in the fruit bowl. “What could it possibly be?”

“A painting, Steven, a priceless work of art, something worth more than I will ever make in my lifetime total, okay, this painting that I admired at a museum once upon a time when I was visiting with this lunatic I’m seeing? It went missing.” Steve considers interrupting as he drops the orange rind in the garbage, but Danny’s probably not finished, so he just waits. Sure enough, a few seconds later, there’s a sigh. “You stole me a painting for my birthday, didn’t you?”

Steve feels himself smile, the edges of his mouth tilting dangerously up and up until he’s sure Danny can hear it. “Um.”

“That really wasn’t an answer,” Danny informs him, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You want to know what CSU found in their investigation?”

“Rope fibers,” Steve tosses in, putting one of the cool orange segments into his mouth. It’s not as sweet as it looks – sharp, sort of acidic. Steve bites into the flesh hard and kind of loves how the taste floods his mouth.

“Rope fibers, he says,” and Steve can close his eyes and see Danny’s gesticulations, hands appealing to an empty room, begging an unseen audience for understanding, _do you see what I have to put up with_?

“No,” Danny continues, “no, not rope fibers. Close, though, very close. Do you know what this person, this perpetrator, do you know what he used instead of rope?” Steve’s about to open his mouth and interject, something like _I hear human hair is really strong_ , but Danny beats him to it. “Dental floss, Steven. The nice woman in the crime lab told me that dental floss can be braided into a rope that’s strong and easy to carry. Did you know that, babe? Were you aware of that little tidbit?”

“I was not aware,” Steve replies, and this time he’s sure Danny can hear how much he’s smiling. “That’s interesting, though. Dental floss. I wonder how many little packs the guy had to buy to make a rope long enough to-”

Sixty-two,” Danny interrupts, and Steve has to shove another orange segment into his mouth to keep from laughing his ass off. “Sixty-two packs of dental floss, that’s how many.”

“That’s a lot,” Steve comments after he swallows. “I hope he bought in bulk, at least.”

“You hope he bought in bulk,” Danny sighs, and Steve wishes he were there, wishes he could see the way Danny’s probably pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I hope that the painting magically reappears in the museum, that’s what I hope, because I’m pretty sure _he_ equals _you_ and I liked the painting, babe, I did, but what the fuck am I going to do with it, huh? It’s not like I can hang it in my apartment and show it off. It’s _stolen_ , it’s _missing_ , and my partner, okay, he’s a smart guy, he’ll know it’s not a replica, and that’s just too much of a coincidence anyway, me sort of involved with this master art thief, a painting going missing near my birthday, me ending up with a really good replica of it hanging in my living room-”

“‘Sort of involved with?’” Steve interrupts smoothly, injecting hurt into his voice. “Nice.”

“That’s what you focus on, of course that’s what you focus on,” Danny mutters. “You know what I mean, Steve. We’ve talked about this.”

Steve winces, because yeah, they sure have, many times, and at length. He’d rather not get into it again, mostly because neither one of them is ever going to win that fight. Special Agent Williams can’t exactly reveal that he’s seeing an internationally wanted criminal, and Steve isn’t keen about telling his crew that his mysterious lover is, in fact, trying to arrest all of them when he’s not in Steve’s bed. “Okay, fine, point taken.”

“Anyway, like I was saying,” Danny says, then stops. “What was I saying?”

“You were telling me how good-looking and amazing in bed I am, and how you’re leaving work right now and hopping a plane so we can have mind-blowing sex tonight,” Steve suggests helpfully, popping the last orange segment into his mouth.

“I really doubt that’s what I was saying,” Danny says dryly. “Considering this new case I have which, hey, if it gets resolved in good time, maybe I’ll have some free time on my hands.”

Steve perks up. “Missing painting, huh?” he muses, staring in the general direction of his living room, where there’s a medium-sized rectangular panel, carefully protected with cloth and plastic. “I might have heard something about that through the grapevine.”

“I thought you might have,” Danny deadpans, and really, if his tone were any drier it might actually flake into pieces and scatter in the wind.

“I’ll make a few phone calls,” Steve says noncommittally, already thinking about how he’s going to sneak back into the museum and re-hang the painting.

“You do that,” Danny replies, sighing again. “You’re a piece of work, McGarrett, you know that? You are really something else. Not a compliment,” he snaps as Steve opens his mouth. “Jesus. You know what I want for my birthday? _Peace and quiet_. A month where I don’t have to worry about whether or not I’m going to actually have to arrest you and your merry little band of miscreants. Tell you what, Steve, on my birthday, just – stay at home. Sit on the couch, order some of that fucking disgusting pizza you seem to adore more than you like me, pop a beer, watch the game, that’s what I want for my birthday.”

“I can probably manage that,” Steve allows. “You gonna show up if I tell you I’ll be doing all that naked?”

“You are not subtle,” Danny informs him archly, but Steve can hear him smiling “I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

It’s as close to a yes as Danny can give, the admission that he’ll be here if he can, and it makes Steve grin like a goof, a full-out happy smile across his face that Danny would probably mock if he were here to see it. “Let me know.”

“I will,” Danny promises. “Honestly, babe, a painting? You couldn’t steal, I don’t know, one of Springsteen’s guitars or something? I mean, I know it’s the thought that counts, but-”

“Springsteen’s guitar,” Steve says thoughtfully. “I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Steven,” he hears as he pulls the phone from his ear, “Steven, _that was not a request, you lunatic_ -”

Steve snaps the phone shut with a grin. Sometimes Danny makes it too easy.

-0-

Danny shows up late on his birthday. Even with Steve returning the painting – with a nice note, he’d thought, _just testing your security, you should angle a camera towards the skylights_ , really, he’d done the museum a service – Danny still looks tired, like his caseload has been worse than normal.

Steve knows it’s not his fault. Not this time, at least.

“Hey,” Danny says as he falls into the couch and leans into Steve. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“Happy birthday,” Steve says into Danny’s hair as he tugs Danny in, tucking his partner against his chest. “And welcome home.”

Danny huffs a laugh into Steve’s neck, like he does every time Steve calls this _home_. Home to Danny, Steve knows, is a hole in the wall in Weehawken, an apartment that would fit, in its entirety, in Steve’s living room. As far as Steve is concerned, though, this is Danny’s home, here, with him.

Until one or both of them retire, though, Danny will stay in Weehawken and Steve will stay in Waikiki, and that will pretty much be that.

“Hey,” Danny repeats, poking Steve in the side. “I was promised nudity if I showed up on my birthday.”

“Far be it from me to refuse naked time,” Steve replies seriously, leaning a little away and stripping his shirt off. Danny follows suit, and soon there’s some serious kissing, some serious groping, and it’s a while before they settle against each other on the couch, lazy and languid and pressed together skin-to-skin.

“Oh,” Steve says at some point, after the game has become the postgame has become the local news broadcast. “I got you something. For your birthday.”

Danny immediately tenses against every inch of Steve’s body. “If you pull out a guitar, so help me God, McGarrett-”

Steve laughs and kisses him as he gropes for the drawer in the end table and digs around. His fingers close on the envelope, and he draws it out and lays it on his chest. “Happy birthday, Danny.”

Danny looks at the envelope suspiciously before picking it up and tearing the end off. He upends the envelope and shakes it, catching the contents in his palm. Steve watches as his eyes crinkle in confusion, widen in sudden comprehension, and finally lock onto his own. “I am choosing to believe,” Danny says slowly, deliberately, “that you found this on eBay or craigslist or something, that you _obtained this legally_.”

“Okay,” Steve says agreeably, watching as Danny holds the guitar pick a little further from his face and turns it this way and that. “You like it?”

Danny smiles and leans over, rooting through the mess of clothing on the floor until he can pull his wallet from the pocket of his pants. He sticks the pick in behind the picture of his daughter and smiles at Steve. “It’s one of Springsteen’s guitar picks. Of course I like it.”

“Good,” Steve tells him, “because you would not _believe_ the security system-”

Danny cuts him off by pressing his mouth to Steve’s with a long-suffering groan, and really, that’s what Steve was aiming for, so he can hardly complain.


End file.
